


Dance, Little Lady

by orphan_account



Category: Bright Young Things, Vile Bodies - Evelyn Waugh
Genre: 1920s, 1930s, Angst, Bright Young Things - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romantic Fluff, gay!ginger littlejohn, gay!miles maitland, gay!miles malpractice, mlm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22590739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ginger and Miles spend a weekend together at Ginger's place, simply being in one another's company, when Miles finds something secret. What has Ginger been keeping from him?
Relationships: Ginger Littlejohn/Miles Maitland
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	1. Dancing And Drinking

“Dance, dance, dance little lady,”

hummed from the gramophone in the croner as Miles and Ginger waltzed, slightly tipsy, stumbling occasionally but looking overall divine. Tassled curtains of thick silk concealed them from the rest of the prejudiced world, as they leant left and right, the soft light from the fire kissing Miles’ cheeks gently.

“So obsessed with second-best…”

Some of Ginger’s furniture was being damaged by their careless dancing, but he thought nothing of it.

“Let the cauldron bubble, justify your fate,”

Miles whooped in surprise as he was bridal-style carried, making his top hat fall off. Ginger pulled him back, close, so Miles’ lips were brushing his.

“Dance, dance, dance little lady, and leave tomorrow behind!”

They span in circles and giggled, such a smile crossing Ginger’s face that you could not possibly imagine. They continued this jig until the final piano phrase had faded into the air, then they dropped, breathless and laughing about the velvet settee.

Miles’ curls were spread wildly around the headboard, the embers dancing in-front of his eyes and making his curls look like liquid sunlight. Noel Coward still played fuzzily in the background of their romance, the record still spinning like Miles’ head. His top hat still stood on the dusty rug, and the slight breeze from the summer night still slightly moved the curtains. Ginger started littering Miles’s neck and jaw softly with kisses, moving up his face, and pressing a few to his earlobes. Miles slid his hand under Ginger’s button-up, feeling his warm, soft skin, so he knew he was real and this wasn’t a dream. They mumbled sweet nothings to each-other, slurring their words slightly.

They ended up side-by-side on the sofa, a blanket hung over their heavy bodies, vile bodies, Miles pressing his head to Ginger’s chest, their beings entertwined.


	2. What's that?

The next morning, the smell of bacon coursed throughout the house. Miles’ eyes were blurry and his hair was wild, sticking up and falling over his eyes. Ginger was cooking in the next room. Stumbling slightly, Miles shakily hobbled into the kitchen. The hangover had begun. He hugged his back, his head lulling over Ginger’s shoulder.

“Morning, darling,” Ginger said, and turned to kiss him. “Oh, dear. You’re positively unwell.”

Miles nodded feverishly. He mumbled and released himself, then looked to the kettle to make tea, when he noticed a leather-bound notebook laying nearby.

“What’s that?” He enquired, peering back at his lover.

Quickly crying out loud, Ginger snatched it up, then sighed, defeated, and replaced it.

His yelp had frightened Miles, his swimming head hyper-sensitive. Ginger murmured many sincere apologies, and took Miles’ slightly quivering hands in his. He seemed unusually jumpy.

All could be heard was his shaky, cold breaths.

“I’m sorry, darling, I-”

Tears rose up in Miles’ throat. “Are you keeping something from me?”

His eyes were fixed upon Ginger’s for a moment. They were wide and scared. They had oceans and sunsets and honey and sage and whiskey in them, but they were laced with darkness and empty party poppers and dark petticoats and empty wine glasses around the edges. Miles’ strawberry pink nose paled the rest of his pasty face.

Ginger was cautious. He had to be.

He rested his forehead against Miles’ clammy one for a moment, and they breathed onto each-other’s faces, before Miles pulled away, unsure if he could trust Ginger.

Ginger’s throat dried.

“Well, it’s a-”


End file.
